


Eagles and Horses

by altairattorney



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Gen, No Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-02
Updated: 2012-03-02
Packaged: 2017-11-01 00:45:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/350121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/altairattorney/pseuds/altairattorney
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one's a noble warrior, guiding and being guided. The other is a careful bird of prey, keeping the natural balance of the universe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eagles and Horses

They know how to fly. When it happens, their movements synchronise in fluid perfection and the still mountains flee by their shoulders, drawing for them an ochre pair of wings.   
They dwell in the subtle line that parts mortals and gods. Their balance belongs to the earth, but their light, the air they breathe, comes from the sun – pilgrims and travellers stop in awe, following their path backwards with startled eyes, towards a dwelling they believe to find in the heavens.  
  
The horse marks the rhythm of time, graceful legs cutting through infinite distances. The rivers, the crossroads know his traces already – he's been treading the ways of centuries, in the never ending circle of war and rest.   
He's tied to the golden earth which gave him birth at first, nourishes him, and will eventually take him back to start another journey. He's alive now; deserts will never chase the regions he gallops on, as long as his energy moves winds and waters through the stone gorges.   
His whole race lives, follows feelings, breathes with sensitive nostrils – the man is part of it all, and part of him as well.   
He never obeys him. He helps him, faithful to the light and fast requests of his feet. The thread connecting their souls is not made of commands – it's life itself, the rush of blood that makes one warrior out of two, from fingers to hooves, from snow-white cloth to floating horsehair.  
He relies on vital instinct, like an animal only can do, fulfilling his task with a wise perfection that, for humans, will always be unreachable.   
He's a noble warrior, guiding and being guided.  
  
The eagle keeps his blade ready, a claw under the feathers of his clothes.  
Since his eyes have been wiped out by reason, he fully understands why the Assassins have found the way to perfection.   
Folly is a sorcery that corrupts living creatures; he knows he'll have to lead an eternal war against his very race, against the people he hates and trusts. So full of betrayal, so poor in sight.  
Luckily, he knows well, chance provides lonely souls with ever loyal friends, at least once in life.  
The ivory feet of his companion jump under him – as a man, he has freedom and reason, and he can understand their godly bond. The two of them are a tangle of blood and spirit, two opposite realities, whose dynamics are fluidly interwoven in every moment. Mostly, they fight, and their restless muscles fling themselves through dozens of men and weapons. Other times, in the middle of a long journey, they rest near a solitary haystack, and a delicate hand follows the hair trails on the white muzzle.  
What's eternal and immutable is that they travel together, from dawn to twilight, on the everliving footsteps of their ancestors.  
The horse is the purest force of nature, carefully remade in flesh and blood. As for him, he's just a careful bird of prey, keeping the natural balance of the universe.  
  
Their wings fold. The time has come to enjoy a well-deserved rest.   
At night, when they lock the sun outside, he mountains of Masyaf are tall and blue – they enclose the village in a shelter of fresh air and silence, to the point that, in the last weary footsteps on their way home, they can feel the vibrations of each other's quiet breath.   
Torches gleam high on the stone as the night watchmen greet their tired companions; the Fortress sleeps, unaware of cliffs and rivers and deserts. Everyone should understand, the eagle thinks. Among its walls there's something so divine and yet so human.   
This, villagers, is the rest of gods – a simple wooden door and a haystack. Their ways are parting for today – still up there, from a distant window, the oil lamp of a brother shines to welcome them both.

**Author's Note:**

> I had a vision of eagles and horses  
> High on a ridge in a race with the wind  
> Going higher and higher, faster and faster  
> On eagles and horses I'm flying again
> 
> \- John Denver, Eagles and Horses
> 
> Oh yeah, it's finally done!  
> This fanfiction is new, but the concept behind it is two years old at least. Because it's very important for me as well.  
> Horse-riding was my sport for a couple of years, but honestly, I failed at it.  
> I'm a strongly emotional person and when I decided to start riding I was even more immature than now. I could not do what my instructors asked, because I couldn't stand the emotional weight of the man-animal relationship this activity requires to establish. I ended up with a shattered back and a very broken self-confidence.  
> Anyway, I miss that special relationship a lot. I'm in love with horses, they're graceful, proud of themselves, they do what they want and not what you want them to do. Yet, once you understand each other, you move just like a single body and mind - which is very important ffor a warrior such as Altaïr.
> 
> So I chose this beautiful song by John Denver, showing the harmonious difference of body and soul. It was just too perfect. :) 
> 
> This is the first AC fic I posted here, but I have written a lot about my first game. <3 It was in fact the fandom which encouraged me to write in English, two years ago. I published everything on my deviantART account then; and now here I am, on AO3 :) Today is a great day!


End file.
